Battlestar Arcadia
by C.S. Juniper
Summary: When a lone battlestar escapes the destruction of the Twelve Colonies she was charged with protecting, her crew must choose whether to burn with their Colonies or become fugitives and wage a fighting retreat into the unknown. Hardships will be endured, deaths will occur, and the Cylons will pursue as the last survivors of humanity make their desperate stand.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note:_

_This story is a rehash of another story I had worked on previously, also titled Battlestar Arcadia. It will utilize certain characters and elements I had introduced in those few initial chapters I wrote. Ship classes and other information found within come from a multitude of sources, with the main sources being, of course, the re-imagined series from 2003 and the 2017 video game Battlestar Galactica Deadlock. Some elements I introduce could be completely made up by myself, others could be fan inspired, etc. Please keep in mind that ship models from Deadlock do not properly show ship board armaments (i.e. showing the Jupiter-class as having only fifteen artillery emplacements), leaving me to do some guesswork with certain ship classes.  
_

_That being said, please enjoy the first chapter (hopefully of many) and feel free to leave any constructive criticisms you may have in the review section. Thanks for reading!_

* * *

**Scorpion Fleet Shipyards  
****Five Weeks Before the Attack**

**Crew Count - 3,415**

* * *

Commander Rodrick Gideon stood from one of the several jump seats possessed by the Colonial Raptor he was currently a passenger in, slowly stepping forward to get a better view from the front windscreen of the cramped transport. The two man crew of the Raptor, one electronics countermeasure officer and one pilot, were both situated in the front two seats, with the ECO having little to do during a fairly simple passenger run.

What Gideon was interested in, however, was the view of his first command as they approached one of several docked battlestars found at Scorpion Fleet Shipyards. "Push her nose down a little, Lieutenant," the recently promoted Commander ordered softly, with the ship's pilot quickly complying.

As the nose of the Raptor pivoted downwards, the hull of his battlestar came into view. The battlestar _Arcadia_, one of twenty three Minerva-class battlestars still in service with the Colonial Fleet after the end of the Cylon Revolt, was bristling with activity as work crews toiled away across the outer hull installing new sections of armor plating and assisted interior laborers with electronics and various other tasks.

_Arcadia_ had been put into spacedock nearly five months ago for an overhaul and partial refit, having been one of the final Minerva-class battlestars to undergo this particular overhaul. The refit was meant to replace many Cylon Revolt era subsystems, weapons emplacements, and other various parts aboard ship to modernize the light battlestar.

The Minerva-class had been one of the first battlestar classes constructed after the progenitor Artemis-class command battlestar and Jupiter-class battlestar, though the third ship class of the battlestar type did not retain the extensive armor plating the previous two classes had. Instead, the Minervas focused on offensive capabilities over defensive capabilities, being the very definition of a glass cannon.

In her Cylon Revolt era configuration, _Arcadia_ and the fellow ships of her class possessed eighteen heavy dual barreled turrets, with eight turrets mounted dorsally, two turrets mounted ventrally at the tip of the alligator head shaped front of the battlestar, and four mounted on the ventral of each flight pod for a total of eight turrets spread across her starboard and port side flight pods.

Missile launchers were mounted all along her sides in the original configuration, with the class sacrificing armor plating and bulk for firepower, a doctrine which had carried over and partially inspired the design of the Mercury-class battlestars. Hundreds of small caliber close-in weapons systems were mounted along her hull as well for point defense protection.

In her new configuration, however, the remaining Minerva-class battlestars in the Colonial Fleet had the vast majority of their conventional missile launchers stripped and replaced with bulkier armor plating, resulting in increased endurance in battle. With the majority of the Jupiter-class battlestars beginning to be phased out of service, including the sole remaining original block one Jupiter-class, _Galactica_, the Admiralty of the Colonial Fleet wanted a ship that could fill the void between the Valkyrie-class light battlestars and the Mercury-class battlestars.

The remaining Minerva-class battlestars were to be the ones to fill that void until a new ship class could be approved by either President Adar's administration or the following administration. _Arcadia_ and her sister ships were to be a more general purpose warship, rather than an assault warship like the Mercury's or a light warship like the Valkyrie's.

Despite the vast majority of her conventional missile launchers being stripped away, _Arcadia_ still possessed a total of ten launchers mounted in pairings of five on both the starboard and port sides. There were also four missile tubes on the dorsal midsection of the battlestar for the launching of nuclear missiles, if the need was to arise.

All in all, Commander Gideon was satisfied to be taking command of _Arcadia_, a ship he had once served aboard as a Viper pilot, as she entered this new stage of her service life.

Gideon was taking command of _Arcadia_ after the battlestar's previous commanding officer, one Commander Emily Stone, had tragically passed away from sudden cardiac arrest five months prior to Gideon's arrival. The Minerva-class had just entered drydock for her refit and, as most of the crew prepared for reassignments or shore leave, Stone died in her personal quarters, found by her executive officer a half an hour later after not appearing for her shift in the combat information center.

In her stead, the Admiralty ordered forty one year old Colonel Maria Dawes, the XO of _Arcadia_, to oversee the ship's overhaul while they searched for replacement commanding officer. Gideon had been told by Rear Admiral Richard Vernier, the commander of Battlestar Group Fifty Five, which _Arcadia_ was apart of, that Dawes had been passed up for the role as CO due to the fact that she had only been promoted to full Colonel six months prior to the death of Commander Stone. As such, Dawes was considered too inexperienced for the job.

Gideon, on the other hand, had spent seven years as a Colonel, serving as executive officer aboard the Battlestars _Yashuman_, _Erasmus_, and _Solaria_ over the course of those seven years. Promoting him to Commander was logical to the Admiralty, due to his lengthy experience in a high level command position and his familiarity with the ship's class, with the _Erasmus_ being a Minerva-class battlestar that had already gone through the retrofits _Arcadia_ herself was undergoing.

As such, Commander Gideon would be the individual charged with taking the proverbial reigns of the last Minerva-class refit in the Fleet as she broke out of drydock and returned to active service, a duty he was proud and honored to perform.

"Take us in, gentlemen," Gideon finally commanded after surveying the exterior of his first command for several minutes.

"Aye, sir," the Raptor's pilot responded dutifully, before he keyed his wireless over to _Arcadia's_ flight control channel. "_Arcadia_-control, this is Raptor 4479, requesting permission to land, port-side landing bay," the Lieutenant spoke into his helmet's wireless, the professionalism projected through his voice portraying his apparent skill to the Commander.

Gideon returned to his jump seat, strapping himself in right as the battlestar's landing signal officer responded to the pilot's transmission. "_Raptor __4479, Arcadia-control, you are cleared for approach. Speed 155, port-side bay, hands-on-approach, checkers green, please call the ball,_" the LSO responded with equal professionalism.

The hands-on-approach interested Gideon, though he quickly surmised that the auto-landing system was more than likely offline during the refit for one reason or another. "I have the ball," the Lieutenant responded into his mic, indicating that he had acquired sight of the crossed navigational lights at the lip of the flight pod's open entrance.

Landing went smoothly, as the Commander had expected, and, after waiting for the internal elevator to lower the Raptor into the actual port-side hangar deck, he unclasped the jump seat's restraints and retrieved his two duffel bags. One of the orange-clad knuckledraggers of the deck crew taxied the ship into its assigned berthing using an aircraft hand tug, giving the pilot and ECO a thumbs up after the Raptor was finally stopped.

"Welcome aboard, Commander," the Lieutenant stated simply, unsealing his helmet from his pressurized flight suit.

Offering a smile and a small nod in response, Gideon waited for the duo to pop the hatch, exiting the craft after they did so. He knew from experience that the two would be required to go through a post-flight check, so Gideon didn't exactly feel obligated to wait for them to finish before he left.

As he exited the Raptor, he was greeted by a small welcoming committee composed of what he figured were department heads and officers of importance. Most were clad in their dark blue duty tunics, with a few clad in khaki fatigues indicating they were either Fleet warrant officers or were non-commissioned officers in the Colonial Marine Corps.

"Commander Gideon, on behalf of the crew of _Arcadia_, welcome aboard," the center figure of the gathered personnel, a woman clad in duty blues with her rank insignia indicating she was a Colonel, spoke curtly to Gideon. Considering there was only one Colonel aboard ship, Gideon felt safe assuming that she was his executive officer, Colonel Maria Dawes.

Salutes were offered, with Gideon returning them dutifully, before the Commander suggested that they move their group into the considerably quieter and more private wardroom. To the group's partial surprise, Gideon led the way, remembering the ship's layout very well. As they walked through the corridors of the thirteen hundred meter long warship, introductions began. The names of a few of the more obscure department heads were quickly shadowed by the more meaningful positions.

The commander of the air group, Major Mackenzie 'Donor' Warfield, was the first he shared a few actual words with as they walked. "Donor's a bit of an odd call sign, Major. I'm sure there's an interesting story behind that," he said after she introduced herself, with the Major offering an embarrassed chuckle in response.

"It was given to me by an instructor back at the academy. We were going through our survival course, specifically the water ditching section, and I had a little bit of an incident in the pool. I drowned before anyone spotted me struggling and by the time I was dragged out of the water, I was technically dead. The instructor, I can't really remember his name, performed CPR, successfully obviously. After I came to, the first thing I did was upchuck all over the poor guy," Gideon and those in the group who hadn't heard the story before all shared a short laugh, before she continued. "He said that he was going to stamp 'do not resuscitate' on my forehead for future reference. Eventually, that was shortened to Donor and that's pretty much it, sir," Warfield explained.

"Could be worse, Major. My first name is Gideon and everyone in the academy just called me Giddy, so I figured it was practically my call sign at that point. After finishing flight quals, I shipped out to the Fleet, to this ship actually, and introduced myself to the CAG as such. He was Aerilon-born and had that deep brassy accent you'd usually expect and he just bent over and let out this guttural, raspy laugh the minute the word left my mouth. I didn't get it until he finally regained his breath and said 'Giddy up buttercup', and from then on my call sign was 'Buttercup'," Gideon spoke, with Warfield letting out a surprised snort in response.

After a moment, she regained composure, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Sorry, sir, but that's fantastic," she said sheepishly.

"No, don't be sorry. It's a great story. I was Major Buttercup for five years, and I certainly intend to tell that to my grandkids once I have a few. Now, onto official stuff. Give me a quick rundown of our air wing," he commanded, with Warfield quickly slipping back into a state of professionalism as she responded to his order.

"We have our peacetime compliment of Mark Sevens aboard currently, sixty planes in total split into three separate squadrons. Fighter squadron designations are 37, 43, and 68. The squadron nicknames are Hexers for the 37th, Cap-Cats for the 43rd, and Terriers for the 68th. We also have one Raptor squadron of twenty ships aboard, the 21st squadron, nicknamed Sweepers. Total number of pilots aboard ship is one hundred and twenty, with twenty of those being qualified as ECOs," the Major explained dutifully.

What really surprised Gideon was that those were the same exact squadrons as those he had served in and alongside during his original tenure aboard the _Arcadia_ nearly twenty three years ago as a rookie Viper pilot. The fact that they hadn't been rotated to a new command was interesting. "Very well, Major," he said, doing his best to commit the pilot and ECO count to memory.

Shortly after he received the rundown of _Arcadia's_ air wing, the group of department heads and various other important personnel arrived at the wardroom, with each of the members taking their seats around the u-shaped table situated within the room. "XO, I want to know where we're at with the refit," Gideon began once he was situated in his seat, having left his duffel bags by the entrance to the room.

Dawes rose from her seat to respond, as was tradition when one was addressed by the commanding officer in a warship's wardroom. "Refit is nearing completion, with finishing touches being applied as we speak, Commander. The chief of the overhaul sent an update this very morning saying that the project should be complete within the next three weeks, leaving us precisely where we need to be to reach projected completion date," the Colonel replied, taking her seat once more after she finished speaking.

"Thank you, Colonel. As much as I would love to have a little round table discussion about our operational status, I would very much like to get situated and move onto the necessary preparations for our upcoming launch. Rear Admiral Vernier indicated to me that we are to perform a shakedown cruise after we break moorings. We'll be doing a few routine system checks, testing our FTL, doing some weapon tests at the Fleet range at the Zodia asteroid belt here on the outskirts of the Helios Gamma system, et cetera. It's expected to take two months to fully test our systems, with an additional month allocated to any minor troubleshooting or maintenance we may need to perform," he spoke, sharing the first part of _Arcadia's_ orders from the Rear Admiral in charge of their Battlestar Group.

"And after those tests, sir?" Warfield questioned before anyone else could speak.

"After those tests, we begin _Arcadia's_ first deployment since before the refit began. Extremists from Tauron are getting brave once again, testing their limits against Colonial law. A fringe group believed to have ties with the Ha'la'tha managed to hijack a freighter last month, though it was rapidly retaken by a Fleet Anti-terrorism Security detachment before it could be put to use. With aggression like that being openly implemented in Colonial space, the Admiralty has decided that a visible presence is necessary in the space lanes of Helios Alpha. Our ship has been selected to do just that, with _Arcadia_ acting as both a quick reaction force and a deterrent for any situations that may arise in-system. That being said, a one week leave will be offered to all non-essential personnel once our initial shakedown cruise, with essential personnel receiving two day passes," Gideon explained to those gathered in the wardroom.

"Should we pass this information onto the crew, sir?" one of the department heads, Captain Sunniva Mills of engineering, if he remembered correctly, questioned in her gravelly Aerilon accent.

The Commander shook his head. "Not yet, Captain. We'll pass on word about the week leave and two day passes, but don't expound any actual details of our upcoming tests or patrol. Orders will be passed on once we're underway. The most they should know is that they are to prepare themselves for, at minimum, a six month long voyage," Gideon answered, turning to address any other questions.

"Sir, what will be our rules of engagement regarding any extremist groups we may encounter?" _Arcadia's_ head gunnery officer, Captain Byron Silva, asked next.

"We will not fire unless fired upon. Orders are to seize the ship, incarcerate the crew, and then remain on station until a Fleet response force arrives to impound the ship and retrieve any prisoners we have aboard," the Commander explained in response, with Silva nodding his head in response.

Another of the gathered department heads rose from his seat, wearing the duty uniform of a Colonial Marine Corps officer. "Commander, will our current MarDet be supplemented by a FAST platoon before leaving, or are we to conduct any operations involving recapture of vessels with the current Marines aboard?" the Marine Captain whose name escaped Gideon questioned.

"How many men and women in the MarDet now?"

"I have one hundred and thirty five Marines under my command, sir. We're at company strength, but our lack of trained personnel for boarding operations is somewhat troubling," the Captain, who sported the fairly generic high-and-tight haircut found throughout the CMC, reported.

"I'll pass your concerns upwards, Captain, but prepare yourself to make do with the MarDet in its current configuration if we are tasked with the recapture of a civilian vessel. Now, ladies and gentlemen, I'll be happy to address any other questions after I've familiarized myself with the nearest head," Gideon joked, prompting a shared laugh from the various department heads. "Please report any further concerns or questions in writing to my quarters and trust me when I say that I plan on making this command transition as smooth as possible. Dismissed," he stated, rising from his chair.

All of those currently in the wardroom rose to their feet and snapped to attention, with most pivoting in perfect form and marching straight out of the wardroom to return to their duties. Colonel Dawes remained, however, seemingly wanting to address the Commander in private.

"Sir, if I may speak freely?" she requested, with Gideon nodding his head in approval. "Commander Stone was a good woman, sir, but she pushed the crew a bit hard at times. I understand that the CO isn't supposed to be friends with their crew, but I highly recommend giving the crew the carrot, so to speak, as often as possible, at least until your command style is cemented in their minds. The humor you offered during that little meet-and-greet was more than Commander Stone offered during her entire command tenure and I'd say it would probably go quite a ways in terms of cementing your authority without any major issues if it continued,"she offered, supplying Gideon with some insight as to how Stone had run her ship.

"Thank you for the advice, Colonel. I'll take that into serious consideration. That being said," Gideon paused and extended his hand towards her, with the Colonel returning the gesture. "Commander Rodrick Gideon. When we're by ourselves, feel free to call me Rick," he introduced himself with a soft smile, which the auburn haired Dawes returned.

"My pleasure, sir. Colonel Maria Dawes, Mitzi when I'm not in CIC," she spoke, clasping her hands behind her back. "The CO's quarters has already been emptied of Commander Stone's belongings. The personal items you had shipped aboard last week are inside," the Colonel added. "If you'll excuse me, Rick, I'll be in the CIC for the next six hours," Dawes explained.

"So be it. Mid-watch begins after your shift, correct?" he questioned, with Dawes nodding in response. "Very well, I plan on introducing myself to the officer of the mid-watch before turning in for the night. If you want to talk further, you're welcome to stop by after your watch," Gideon spoke.

With that, both he and Dawes exited the wardroom, with Gideon retrieving his duffel bags before he left. A nearby Marine was quick to offer his assistance to the Commander, with Gideon politely declining the offer. The day he was too conceited to carry his own luggage was the day he'd retire from the service.

Despite only having visited the CO's quarters a handful of times during his previous tenure aboard _Arcadia_, Gideon was familiar enough with the layout of the ship to find his way to the room. It took him a few minutes to traverse the corridors of the four fifths of a mile long battlestar, but he soon arrived at the hatchway that led into the CO's quarters, with a single guard from the on board MarDet posted at the entrance.

Said Marine quickly moved to open the hatch for the Commander, pulling the hatch outwards and holding it open for Gideon. Passing by the Marine with a grateful nod, Gideon found a sparsely furnished room awaiting him, with little more than a desk and chair, a bed, and a small couch awaiting him within. The three boxes of personal belongings he had sent before his arrival were stacked neatly in the center of the room, along with a fairly flat item that was wrapped carefully in brown wrapping paper.

Dropping his two duffel bags atop the fairly spartan bed, the Commander moved to begin unpacking his belongings, beginning with the paper-wrapped item. Gideon knew that the item contained within was a painting, specifically a painting he had commissioned by an artist from Leonis, of his home planet of Pallas as viewed from space.

Pallas was a small desolate planet that was believed to have once been habitable and, while efforts to Kobolform the world failed multiple times, several civilian outposts had been setup around the planet, either for research or mining purposes. Gideon was born at one such civilian outpost, a series of connected and enclosed habitats that were made to house the workers of Telcore, a Virgon-based mining corporation that operated several large scale facilities on Pallas.

Despite his homeworld being considered lifeless and of little value by most citizens of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol, Gideon had a special relationship with the dust covered planet. As such, the painting of the red world, which was so colored due to the abundance of rust particles on the surface, had been one of his most cherished possessions since having it commissioned.

Normally the painting stayed in his modest condo in the city of Blaustad on Virgon, but due to the time dedication demanded by the position of commanding officer of a large warship, Gideon had chosen to include the framed canvas as part of the personal belongs he had brought aboard ship.

Taking several moments to survey the dimly lit stateroom, the Commander found a suitable spot to hang the frame, nestled directly behind the room's large wooden desk and a pair of bookshelves, one of which housed the various operations manuals that could be utilized as reference material for the commanding officer in various scenarios that may occur on an active-duty battlestar.

The walls of the stateroom were of a pegboard design, allowing Gideon to hang various items from secure supports without the need to drill holes into the walls for mountings.

After a few minutes of unpacking and decorating, the Commander moved to the storage room that the stateroom possessed, placing the now empty duo of duffel bags into the cramped closet. Almost immediately after stowing his luggage, he moved to his queen sized bedding, collapsing onto the stiff box spring mattress. Silently cursing the bean counters who had authorized the purchase of such a low quality bed, Gideon rolled over onto his back and allowed himself to rest for the first time since awakening nearly twelve hours ago.

He had a terrible feeling that this command was going to be a dreadfully boring affair, with an endless number of near-meaningless patrols and constant shift rotations in the CIC between him and a dreaded desk job at Fleet Headquarters or another ground installation that would lead to his eventual retirement from the Colonial Fleet altogether.

And with that single thought process, Gideon's stress reared its head once more.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Helios Gamma System**_  
_**Day One of the Attack**_

_****Crew Count - 3,415****_

* * *

Major Mackenzie 'Donor' Warfield sighed as she leaned back into her flight seat, attempting to gain some measure of comfort in her Viper Mark VII. She was currently in the process of leading a combat air patrol, or CAP, in the vicinity of where the battlestar _Arcadia_ had been brought to a full stop. The ship and her crew were a mere two and a half weeks into their shakedown cruise and had already uncovered a number of small issues that required a measure of maintenance and fine tuning.

Already the battlestar was behind schedule, still a full two days away from the Fleet Gunnery Practice Range at Zodia asteroid belt, which laid relatively close to the gas giant of Ophion and its fourteen moons. The most recent of the numerous reasons for why the ship was behind schedule was due to a mishap involving a defective fuel line that ran through the port hangar deck, prompting a temporary evacuation of the entire flight pod while a crew of Captain Sunniva Mills' snipes rushed to fix the issue.

The line had been compromised during the refit, causing a tylium leak that could have engulfed the entire battlestar in flames if it had been ignited. She and the other members of the crew were extremely grateful that the flaw had been caught on the fifth day of their shakedown, but after nearly twelve days, the issue and cleanup still hadn't been entirely finished, with _Arcadia_ remaining dead in space as a result. The starboard hangar had also been overcrowded with deckhands who were normally assigned duties on the port-side hangar deck, serving to frustrate Warfield and the rest of her pilots even further.

Nevertheless, she performed her patrol as ordered, ready to respond to any incident that may arise. That was, until, she and her patrol were ordered to return to the barn by Commander Gideon himself. Considering they were cleared into the port flight pod, Warfield assumed that engineering had rectified the issue fully, returning the port flight pod and hangar deck to operational status.

After landing her bird and waiting for the deckhands to taxi her Viper into its assigned berthing, Warfield was surprised to find the Commander waiting for her personally atop the movable staircase that was normally used by deckhands to allow them to interact with pilots after they landed their fighters. "Commander, didn't expect to see you around my digs," the Major joked, with Gideon cracking a small smirk.

"Figured I'd come down and see how the other half lives," he responded in turn, taking her flight helmet from her as she pushed herself out of the cockpit of her plane. "That aside, I have a mission for you. I need two recon Raptors ready for skids up in forty five minutes," Gideon explained.

Clambering down the staircase behind Gideon, Warfield took a clipboard from one of the many deckhands and signed off on her plane's status and end of mission. "Can do, skipper, but what's the rush?" she questioned casually. Gideon and the Major had spent no small amount of time together in the nearly five weeks he had been aboard ship, with the Commander dividing his time as equally as he could to learn everything he could about his crew, particularly his pilots.

The intense interest in the personal lives and the well being of the pilots that served him gained him quite a bit of praise among the Viper jockeys and Raptor drivers, with Warfield believing that they were willing to follow him much further than they ever would have followed Commander Stone. As tactically sharp as she may have been, Stone simply was not a people person, which a battlestar commander often had to be.

"The officer sent to act as the Colonial delegate to Armistice Station is running late. HQ sent out a request for all ships to report their status and we were chosen to be the ones to jump out there and assess the situation. More than likely, his shuttle is experiencing some kind of mechanical issue, but I want to be safe and send a reconnaissance force ahead of time," Gideon explained, handing Warfield's flight helmet over to the same deckhand that had supplied her with her post-flight checklist.

"Aye, sir. I'll get two crews right away," she spoke, offering a salute to her commanding officer, which was quickly returned.

After the salutes were swapped, the Commander turned to depart from the once more bustling port hangar deck, leaving Warfield with less than an hour to plan a reconnaissance mission. _At least, _she thought, _it'll be a milk run._

* * *

Within half an hour, Warfield and Chief Petty Officer Verell had Raptor 337 and Raptor 4479 prepped and ready to depart, with the crews of the dual Raptors breezing through the pre-flight checklist.

Lieutenant Lucas 'Notso' Bright and Junior Lieutenant Davidson 'Spleen' Lewis were at the reins of Raptor 4479, having incidentally been the same crew and Raptor combination that had ferried Commander Gideon from his previous duty station as XO aboard the Battlestar _Solaria_ to his current posting, and Junior Lieutenant Mike 'Pally' Palada and Ensign Roger 'Grouch' Lloyd were the crew for Raptor 337.

Warfield had chosen Notso and Spleen specifically to act as the lead element during this mission, due in part to their seniority over the rather inexperienced duo manning Raptor 337. Pally may have been a solid ECO, but Grouch was still a rookie pilot, with the Major having been sure to assign a more experienced crew to lead the mission.

"Quick recap gentlemen," she called into both Raptors, summoning the crews outside of their crafts. "The Armistice Station delegate is overdue by twelve hours at this point, with command wanting _Arcadia_ to investigate why exactly that delegate hasn't returned yet. Commander Gideon believes it may just be a simple mechanical issue with the officer's shuttle, but nevertheless, he has ordered us to conduct a recon run to ascertain the situation. Orders are real simple. Jump in, evaluate, make contact, jump out," Warfield briefed the four officers gathered around her, glancing up at each of them, waiting for any questions.

When none came, she dismissed the four and they clambered into their Raptors, with Sweets and Spleen being the first to be towed to elevator for departure. Once both Raptors were away, there was little for the Major to do but wait.

* * *

**_Armistice Station_**  
**_Colonial-Cylon Border_**

* * *

As soon as his Raptor blinked into existence after exiting from the faster-than-light jump, the proximity alert klaxons in Notso and Spleen's Raptor began sounding out, with Notso pulling up hard on the control yoke to avoid collision with a chunk of debris. Pally and Grouch weren't so lucky apparently, with Raptor 337 blinking into existence slightly ahead of Raptor 4479 and disappearing in a fiery explosion after almost immediately impacting a large section of debris, the craft disappearing from Raptor 4479's DRADIS as instantly as it had arrived.

"Oh Gods," the Lieutenant managed to gasp out after pulling his Raptor away from the debris field, finally able to survey the area without interruption from any of the floating objects in their vicinity. "Pally and Grouch just bought the frakking farm," Notso added, nauseated by the sudden and violent deaths of the men he had called friends.

"This doesn't make sense," he heard Spleen mutter. "We're at the right coordinates, but there's no Armistice Station. What the frak is going on?" the ECO questioned, glancing out the windscreen of the Raptor.

Notso came to a sudden realization as he spotted half of a Mark I Colonial shuttle in the debris field. "Frak me, Spleen, it's gone. That's Armistice Station," he said, nodding at the debris field that sat in front of their windscreen. "Get a clean DRADIS sweep and let's get the hell out of here," Notso exclaimed, slowly throttling the Raptor forward, skimming over the top of the debris field.

Unbeknownst to the two man Raptor crew, a pair of crescent shaped Cylon Raiders lied in wait within the debris field, red scanners sweeping back and forth. Neither vessel sent any communications, but both instinctively knew how to react, their sublight engines powering up as they traveled towards the unsuspecting Raptor. They moved slowly to obscure their movement, knowing that the debris field would serve to partially obscure themselves from DRADIS detection.

Neither ship needed to get terribly close to launch a missile at the Colonial vessel, but one of the animal-like Raiders made a grave mistake in its approach. It attempted to gain a missile lock too early.

"Missile lock!" Spleen exclaimed, springing into action. "There's a bogey in the debris, dead ahead," he added to his initial exclamation.

Notso quickly swung their Raptor around, pushing the throttle as far forward as it would. "Kicking in the afterburners. Spool up our FTL and get us back to _Arcadia_," the Lieutenant ordered his ECO, who immediately moved to comply.

With their cover blown, the two Raiders emerged from the debris and began speeding towards their target, with both Raiders launching a single missile towards their intended target. "I can't get the frequency of those warheads," Spleen called out, prompting to launch one of the three swallow decoy drones the Raptor carried.

The drone veered to the left while Notso pulled his Raptor to the right. Falling for the ruse, the two warheads honed in on the swallow, buying the time Spleen needed to spool up the FTL and input the coordinates for the return jump to _Arcadia_.

Before the pair of Raiders could close on the single Raptor, it disappeared once more, jumping back to the Minerva-class battlestar the Raptor called home. The Raiders weren't concerned. The humans aboard were already dead, they were just unaware.

The plan had already been implemented on too large of a scale to be stopped.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Helios Gamma System_**  
**_Day One of the Attack_**

**_**Crew Count - 3,413 (-2)**_**

* * *

Commander Gideon paced back and forth in his personal quarter's, three steps at a time, as he waited for word that the reconnaissance mission he had sent had returned. It was a pseudo-tradition for him to pace when awaiting the outcome of a mission he had ordered or assisted in implementing and, if it wasn't for the insistence of Colonel Dawes, the Commander would be in the CIC, pacing to and fro in front of the command and control station in the middle of the battlestar's nerve center.

Despite having never been apart of a failed operation or a task that had resulted in anything more than a simple accident, Gideon's nerves often managed to get the better of him. The most he projected outwards was the pacing, but internally, his thoughts were wracked with worry.

That's why when Junior Lieutenant Jean Kepler's voice came over the PA system aboard _Arcadia_, signaling the crew to raise the battlestar's readiness from the normal peacetime condition four up to the heightened level of condition two, Gideon charged out of his personal quarters at full speed, not bothering to close the entry hatch to the room behind him.

Alert klaxons rang out, and would continue to do so until department heads reported to CIC that the ship was set at condition two, with the Commander passing a number of crewmen scurrying to their assigned duty stations. Thanks to the near proximity that the commanding officer's quarters had to CIC, Gideon was able to make the walk from his quarters to the central nerve center of his ship in under two minutes.

"Sitrep," he immediately cried out, ignoring the crewmen who stood to attention as he entered the upper platform of the CIC.

"Raptor 4479 entered real-space three minutes ago. They're reporting in on Armistice Station," Colonel Dawes reported, holding the wired transceiver attached to the command console for him the grab.

Gideon's eyebrows furrowed. "We sent two Raptors," he spoke, with his XO simply nodding her head in response. The Commander quickly grabbed the transceiver from her, pulling it up to his ear. "This is _Arcadia_-actual, report," he ordered.

_"Arcadia-actual, Pally and Grouch are gone. Their Raptor jumped right into the debris field that was Armistice Station. We were fired upon by a pair of unidentified DRADIS contacts before we could get a clear picture of what occurred,"_ the pilot of Raptor 4479 reported, stunning Gideon.

"I want you skids down five minutes ago. You two are to report directly to me in the pilot's ready room immediately," he commanded, slamming the transceiver back into its designated slot. "Tell Major Warfield I want that Raptor's recon footage ASAP. I want to see everything that they saw," Gideon ordered his XO before he marched out of the CIC and turned towards the wardroom.

* * *

"That's all there is to it, Commander. After Pally and Grouch's Raptor was destroyed exiting FTL, we tried to get a closer look at what was going on. That's when those bogeys jumped us," Lieutenant Bright explained, with Junior Lieutenant Lewis nodding his head in apparent concurrence.

It had been fifteen minutes since Raptor 4479 had arrived back to Arcadia with word of the deaths of Junior Lieutenant Mike Palada and Ensign Roger Lloyd and the apparent destruction of Armistice Station. Despite the grim feelings settling into Gideon's mind due to the loss of the pilots, he was extremely concerned about the implications of the attack against the station.

It was hard to fathom that one of the few active terrorist groups among the Twelve Colonies of Kobol would be brave enough to make a move against Armistice Station, much less stick around in the debris field to deliberately attack any investigating ships. Gideon just couldn't understand it.

While he attempted to wrap his head around the situation, Major Warfield entered through the hatchway that led into the ready room, with Gideon dismissing the Raptor crew. "Tell me you have something, Major," he spoke.

Wordlessly, Warfield approached the wall mounted computer terminal in the ready room, interfacing the data drive she held in her hands into the device. As soon as it had been plugged in, she interfaced with the terminal and brought up a video file. Pressing play, she stood back and watched the footage alongside her commanding officer.

The drive showed exactly what Bright and Lewis had described, with Gideon noticing little of worth, other than the debris field itself. That was until Warfield rewound the video file and paused at a single still frame. A still frame that perplexed the Commander even further. "Magnify," he ordered simply, staring intently as she followed his orders.

After magnification, Gideon was utterly terrified by the footage. The Raptor had only managed to capture three frames worth of blurry footage on the bogey they were facing, but it was enough to see the scanning red eye it possessed. "What things in the universe do you know have a scanning red eye, Major?" he questioned rhetorically, with the equally stunned and terrified Warfield unable to speak.

Suddenly, the battlestar's PA sounded out once more, tearing their attention away from the footage. _"Pass the word for Commander Gideon, Commander Gideon, please contact CIC,"_ Lieutenant Kepler's voice reverberated through the ship's loudspeakers once more, with Gideon marching to the wall mounted wireless in the ready room.

"Gideon," he said simply, with Lieutenant Kepler indicating that she was transferring him to his XO.

_"Commander, we've just received a priority message from Picon Fleet Headquarters. It was broadcasted in the clear,"_ Dawes began, with Gideon's nerves kicking in as he prayed to all the Gods he knew that she wasn't about to say what he thought she was. _"Message begins: Attention all Colonial units, Cylon attack underway. This is no drill,"_ the Colonel spoke flatly.

Gideon didn't have a response for her, instead calmly placing the transceiver back into its slot on the wall and turning to the CAG of his ship. "Get my birds ready for combat," he commanded, before exiting the ready room bound for CIC.

* * *

"We're about 40 AUs from the point of origin of the message, Commander, meaning that all of the reports we're receiving are over five and a half hours old," the _Arcadia's_ communications specialist, Petty Officer 2nd Class Derek Osiris, explained to the Commander.

"Have we received anything other than the priority message?" Gideon questioned. Nodding his head, Osiris silently handed the Commander a handful of other reports. Skimming through them, Gideon's face began to pale in concern. Picon Fleet Headquarters had been destroyed, Admiral Nagala took personal command of the entire Fleet, and close to thirty battlestars had been destroyed in the opening strokes of the Cylon surprise attack. "Action stations," he spoke after a few moments of stunned silence, with the crew quickly jumping into action. "Set condition two throughout the ship," Gideon added, setting the reports down on the center command console.

Kepler rapidly grabbed the transceiver from her station and keyed it to 1MC, echoing the call for action stations Gideon had just ordered. "What have we lost so far?" Dawes questioned from beside Gideon.

"Over thirty battlestars and dozens of support vessels. Countless lives. Nagala is trying to rally the 39th, 42nd, 68th, and 71st Battlestar Groups to Virgon to commence a counterattack against a Cylon fleet forming near the Colony, but its every ship for themselves by the looks of things right now," he answered, still holding out hope that this was a nightmare he would soon awake from.

"Thirty battlestars, my Gods. That's a quarter of our battlestars, Rick," Dawes muttered, steadying herself against the command console.

Wordlessly, Gideon grasped for the transceiver attached to the center console and keyed in for 1MC. "This is the Commander. Our ship has just received word that a Cylon attack against our Colonies is underway as we speak. Due to our distance from the nearest Colonial units, the reports we receive are nearly five and a half hours old. Information regarding the strength and disposition of Cylon units is unknown at this time. I will personally relay any and all information as we receive it. For the time being, maintain condition one until we are better informed of our situation. That is all," and with that said, Gideon turned to the command crew, staring at each one of them intently.

Their faces screamed terror, though they all continued their duties, knowing that the lives of their families and friends relied on their ability to man _Arcadia_ to the best of their ability.

"Prepare for war."


	4. Chapter 4

**_Helios Gamma System_**  
**_Day One of the Attack_**

**_**_**Crew Count - 3,413  
**_**_**

* * *

Information arrived to _Arcadia_ in droves, with none of the printed out reports indicating anything positive for the Colonials. In short, they were losing and Gideon knew that it was unlikely that an effective counterattack could be organized in time to respond to the beating the Colonies were taking.

According to a series of reports that had printed out several minutes after announcing the attack to the crew, the Cylons were using nuclear weapons against Colonial cities. Gideon himself was on the verge of tears as he picked up the transceiver once more and keyed it to 1MC.

"Preliminary reports indicate that a nuclear device in the 50-megaton range was detonated over Caprica City several hours ago. Reports of nuclear detonations on the planets of Aerilon, Picon, Sagittaron, and Gemenon have been received as well. No casualty reports as of yet, but they will be staggering. There are no words to describe the feelings we all share at this moment, but we cannot falter in the face of these travesties. We must continue preparing this battlestar for the long and arduous journeys she no doubt must undertake in this war. Overcome everything else you are feeling in this moment and steel yourself for the days ahead," the Commander set the transceiver softly back into its slot, staring upwards at Colonel Dawes.

"Orders, sir?" she questioned softly, tears threatening to fall from her eyes.

Gideon couldn't blame her for wanting to cry. Five of the most populous Colonies had just been devastated by nuclear fire, along with the very capital of Colonial civilization. It was the apocalypse and nobody could believe it was happening. "Helm, bring us about and begin a full burn towards Libran. The best thing we can do is wait for more intelligence before we make any rash decisions," he explained, folding his hands behind his back.

"Should we begin preparations for an FTL jump, Commander?" Lieutenant Kepler questioned, silently perplexed as to why they wouldn't return to the Colonies as rapidly as possible.

"Destroying thirty battlestars is no small feat, Lieutenant. The Cylons must have some edge other than the element of surprise and until I'm sure as to what that is, I will not recklessly send us into the fray. If we receive orders countermanding my own, we will comply with those instead," Gideon answered. "Now, I need you to coordinate with Osiris and get me as best of a chart as you can highlighting any and all units in Helios Gamma, Colonial or otherwise," he added, before he moved to the weapons control station adjacent to the tactical station. "Weapons, sitrep on magazine,' the Commander requested of the weapons officer charged with managing the artillery batteries and close-in weapon systems used for point defense, Captain Byron Silva.

"Our magazines were refilled after our refit, Commander. We have the munitions necessary for sustained combat," Silva answered dutifully.

A Minerva-class battlestar had two dedicated munitions storage facilities, referred to as magazines, that could each individually hold thousands of tons of munitions for the ship's eighteen main turrets and the four hundred plus CIWS placed strategically around the outer hull, as well as her conventional missile launchers. The ship board armory boasted by the _Arcadia_ could also, with the proper raw materials, produce munitions for the point defense guns and their shipboard Vipers, allowing the magazines to house more ammunition for the primary batteries.

As such, _Arcadia_ held, more than likely, years worth of munitions aboard ship. "Commander, you should see this," Kepler called out, beckoning Gideon over to where she and Petty Officer Osiris stood at the communications center. Once he arrived, the tactical officer motioned to a recently printed report she held in her hands. "We've been receiving some odd reports about equipment malfunctions throughout the Fleet, alongside the casualty lists," she stated.

"What's odd about that? Malfunctions happen, especially when ships that haven seen combat in forty years try to get up to speed," Gideon countered, understanding full well that many ships would be cutting corners in an attempt to get themselves prepared.

"It's the type of malfunctions, sir. I've got at least three reports of an entire battlestar shutting down just before they faced off against the enemy. Not just one or two systems, Commander, three entire battlestars, all systems disabled," Kepler explained.

Gideon furrowed his brows as he read through the reports on his own, seeing that the Battlestars _Yashuman_, _Alexios,_ and _Uned_ had all managed to send out emergency alerts that indicated every system aboard ship had been shutdown at the same time, with a report from the _Alexios_ describing it as if 'Someone had simply flipped a switch'.

"Oh Gods," Gideon muttered in sudden realization. "Lieutenant Kepler, disconnect every network connection between our computerized systems," he ordered suddenly, with Kepler blanching in response.

"Sir, that would take hours and I don't see the purpose."

"Think, Lieutenant. The Cylons are experts at hacking into networked systems, whether they're hardened or not. That's why the Fleet went analog during the First War. They must have found a way to crack our networks before they initiated the attack," he explained.

Slowly, Kepler began connecting the dots. "Okay, I'll sever the network immediately, but that doesn't explain the Vipers shutting down. None of the systems on a Viper are networked," she pointed out, leaving Gideon stumped.

The Commander began wracking his brain for the commonality between Vipers and battlestars and came to only one connection shared between the two. "The CNP. It's not our networks they broke into, it's the operating system we run our frakking navigational computers on," he spoke, eyes wide in terror.

If the CNP was truly compromised, every Fleet ship, station, and facility that operated a NAVCOM that ran Gaius Baltar's operating system was in risk of being infiltrated by Cylon computer viruses. "XO, get on the horn with Chief Verell. Have him wipe every single Viper and Raptor's navigational operating system and reinstall the previous OS," he ordered.

"Sir, the previous navigational operating system is garbage. That's why the Fleet replaced it in the first place," Dawes countered.

"Unless you have the knowledge and time to write the thousands upon thousands of algorithms and code it takes to create a functional navigational operating system, I'm going to risk our planes flying with a garbage navigational OS rather than a compromised one," Gideon spoke, before he turned towards helm control. "Helm, begin decelerating until we're at a full stop. We'll be dead in the water, but we're far enough out that we may be able to avoid detection long enough to reinstall the previous NAVCON OS," he said, silently praying to any of the Gods that would listen.

"We're looking at least a two hour time table to purge the CNP and reinstall the previous navigational OS just for the battlestar's computer. Lords only know how long for the Vipers and Raptors. That means at least two hours without navigational data of any kind. We'll be flying blind," Kepler reported.

It was the price they would have to pay. "Then we'd better get cracking, Lieutenant," Gideon stated simply, glancing upwards at the still clear DRADIS screen that was suspended over the command console.

Two hours was a long time to be dead in the water.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Helios Gamma System_**  
**_Day One of the Attack_**

**_**Crew Count - 3,413  
**_**

* * *

It had been nearly an hour and a half since Gideon had ordered his crew to begin severing the network connections aboard Arcadia and uploading the previous navigational computer operating system on the shipboard Viper and Raptor complement to replace the CNP, the suspected cause of the mass shutdown of entire warships across Colonial space.

Vipers had been the priority and, as indicated by the reports being sent by Chief Verell, a little over forty of the sixty planes aboard had been reverted to the previous NAVCON operating system, with Gideon ordering all of those forty odd planes into the air immediately. With _Arcadia's_ navigational computer still awaiting the reinstall of the previous OS, the Vipers were the only source of intelligence regarding the battlestar's position and any vessels that may be in the area.

Since the shipboard navigational computer was also the source of sensor information for DRADIS, meaning that if any threats were to appear, the battlestar would not be able to detect them. They were quite literally flying blind.

"Sir, Chief Verell just reported another three Vipers complete," Lieutenant Kepler reported from her station after a brief conversation over the tactical station's corded phone, presumably with the Chief himself or one of his crew.

Nodding his head in acknowledgement, Gideon continued pouring over the physical navigational charts that had been laid out atop the command and control console. With the navigational computers offline, the Commander and his subordinates were forced to rely on physical copies of navigational charts to plot their next moves. "What was the last report we received from Admiral Nagala?" Gideon questioned Petty Officer Osiris, despite already knowing the answer.

Nevertheless, Osiris was quick to shuffle through the various paper reports and printouts he had laid out next to the charts. "All able units to rally to Virgon. Further orders pending," the young communications specialist reported. It was the same report he had read to Gideon earlier. "That report is now five hours old," he added as an afterthought.

"We know that, but what does that mean for us?" Colonel Dawes questioned from her place next to the Commander. Whether or not it was a rhetorical question, Gideon couldn't say with any measure of certainty.

Maintaining his silence, the Commander brought the chart of the Helios Beta system to the top of the pile. "Miss Kepler, come here, please," despite the request being spoken with an air of politeness, the sternness in his voice broke through, indicating that the statement was anything but a request. The battlestar's primary tactical officer was quick to snap to and march to the console, standing next to Osiris. "Can you give me a rough layout of Colonial forces in the immediate area around Virgon?" he asked, with Kepler quick to nod and retrieve one of the many grease pencils that laid atop the command station.

She wildly began marking swathes of the chart with hand drawn circles. Most of the circles she marked through with x's, the rest with question marks. "Each circle represents a battlestar, I haven't been able to gather reports from smaller ships yet. X's are confirmed destroyed, question marks are unknown," Kepler reported, placing the grease pencil back down.

All in all, there were only five question marked circles, compared to nearly forty three x marked circles. And every circle was there to represent a battlestar. Escorts and smaller warships were still unaccounted for. "With the thirty destroyed battlestars in the opening wave and the forty three here, that's seventy three battlestars destroyed. Let's assume the five unknowns are destroyed as well, so seventy eight battlestars confirmed destroyed," Gideon spoke in a near whisper.

Several moments of silence passed before Kepler spoke. "One hundred and three confirmed destroyed, sir," she said, causing the Commander to glance upwards away from the chart with his brows raised in shock. "Every single shipyard we have has been destroyed, including reserve yards and the mothballed fleet. From what we can gather, there are no ships that survived the assaults on any of the dockyards," the Lieutenant added.

"One hundred and three battlestars gone. There are only a hundred and twenty three battlestars in the Fleet, Rick," Dawes stated sickeningly, letting his first name slip in a momentary lapse of professionalism.

Gideon didn't comment on it. "Were, Colonel. There were a hundred and twenty three battlestars in the Fleet. Now, there are twenty. We need to focus on those twenty and begin rallying the troops. Who do we know is alive? Battlestars, Commanders, who?" he questioned no one in particular, leaving Osiris to speak up.

"Commander Adama on the Battlestar _Galactica_ took command of the entire Fleet after the reports from over Virgon came through. He assumes Admiral Nagala is dead and has set the rally point as Ragnar Anchorage," the communications specialist stated.

"Nagala being dead, Lords rest his soul if he is, is a fairly safe assumption at this point. Surprised Adama is still kicking, that old warhorse. I would've made him a priority one target if I was the Cylons. What's between us and Ragnar?" Gideon asked, slipping back into stone-faced professionalism as best as he could.

Kepler leaned forward and retrieved the charts of the Helios Gamma solar system. "Ragnar is a gas giant caught in orbit between both the Helios Gamma and Helios Delta systems. If we were to depart Helios Gamma right now on a straight shot course for Ragnar, we would have to continue our current burn towards Libran, pass by the colony, and then travel out of the system towards the gas giant. Probably about eight or nine hours at full burn," she reported diligently.

"That wasn't what I asked, Lieutenant," the Commander said simply, with Kepler nodding her head in response.

She retrieved a grease pencil once more and began crossing x's around the colony of Libran. "There are anywhere from two to fifteen basestars in orbit or in the near vicinity of Libran that could, and most likely would, detect us. Each of those basestars has who knows how many squadrons of Raiders aboard. Also, we've received reports indicating that the Cylons are sending pickets of two to eight Raiders to search for any remaining Colonial units," Kepler explained.

"A lot of bad in between us and Adama," Gideon muttered, stroking his stubble covered chin quietly in thought, with those gathered around the console offering nothing more than nods in agreement as he considered their options. "An FTL jump would be easiest," before the Commander could finish his thought, Major Mackenzie 'Donor' Warfield's frantic voice came over the wireless speakers positioned around the CIC.

_"DRADIS contact! One signature matching size of a Cylon basestar bearing 098, carom 111! Distance is five hundred thousand and closing!"_ Donor reported diligently from her cockpit. She had been apart of the first wave of Vipers that had launched immediately after Chief Verell and his crew finished the hasty retrofits.

Now, it seemed, she would be leading the defense of _Arcadia_ personally. "Action stations. Set condition one throughout the ship," Gideon ordered calmly, before turning to his weapons officer. "Pass word for the gun crews to report to their stations and switch main battery to manual fire. Automatic fire control would be spotty at best without a live connection to our NAVCON," he explained, crossing his hands behind his back as his orders were echoed and the warning klaxons began sounding out across his Minerva-class battlestar.

The War had finally come to them.

* * *

Donor was doing her best to keep her nerves calm, at least externally. Viper jockeys never lost their cool in combat, least of all a CAG of a major warship. Now was the time for tranquility to trump all other emotions. "Dog Pound, take your squadron and defend the starboard side. Designate a second and do not stray into _Arcadia's_ flak field. They've switched to manual fire, so watch for dummy rounds. My squadron, stick with me and let's do this by the numbers. This is a defensive operation, so don't lose your cool and let some machine motherfrakker drag you away from your wingman. Spider Bitch, if I go down, take control of your squadron," she explained over the wireless, silently proud with how calm her voice was.

A series of affirmatives rang out over the wireless as Donor watched Dog Pound lead the pilots of the 37th Fighter Squadron over to _Arcadia's_ starboard side. Donor was temporarily leading Spider Bitch's 43rd Fighter Squadron personally, as the forty two Vipers flown by the pilots of the two respective squadrons were the only flight capable fighters currently in the air. The remaining 68th Squadron which made up the eighteen planes that weren't space worthy were still undergoing retrofit by Chief Verell and his deckhands.

It had been at least thirty seconds since the arrival of the basestar, leaving them only one hundred and thirty more seconds before the Cylon capital ship was in firing range. Even less time for the Raiders the ship had launched, though Donor would bet good money that they'd attempt to fight the Colonial Vipers before they began targeting _Arcadia_ proper.

That left the mere forty two Vipers she had under her command to take on the nearly three hundred Raiders that had launched from the basestar. She really hoped that the crews of _Arcadia's_ batteries were able to knock down a swathe of Raiders. She'd take anything that helped to even out the odds.

Based on the speed and current distance of the nearest Cylon Raider, Donor and her pilots had about forty seconds before they'd be in range. "Lemon, form up off my left wing. Let's knock 'em down," she stated with as much courage as she could muster.

Individual moments seemed to drag on for longer and longer before finally, the Major saw a red scanning glint, followed by another, and another, and even more before they became countless. It was on. "All birds, weapons free, engage at will," she cried out, gunning her craft towards the encroaching Raiders as soon as they were within justifiable range.

She had to admit, these crescent shaped Raiders were a helluva lot more maneuverable than she would've liked, though she still felt as if her Viper had the edge. Choosing a target at random, Donor droned out the unceasing chatter over the wireless and, for the first time in her eleven year stint as a Viper jockey, pulled the trigger of her KEW's in aggression.

The first wave of Raiders seemed almost shocked when the Colonials initially tore through them, though they were quick to recover. Donor chalked this up to the fact that they had reverted their navigational OS to the previous iteration, proving the Commander's theory correct. It was something about the CNP that allowed the Cylons to infiltrate Colonial computer systems.

Without the CNP installed, however, the Vipers of _Arcadia_ stood an actual chance against their mechanical opponents. _"Donor, you've got one slotting in on your six,"_ her wingman, Lieutenant Andrew 'Lemon' Greenwald, reported calmly over the wireless, his voice alone breaking through the chatter. _"Pull hard to starboard, ma'am,"_ he ordered, with Donor unhesitatingly complying with his command.

As she did, she glanced to her left and noticed a stream of tracer fire, presumably from either the Raider or Lemon himself, fly by. The twirling hulk of a splashed Raider followed milliseconds after, with the spectacle ending with the Raider exploding unceremoniously. Lemon quickly reformed off her left wing and, wordlessly, they continued their battle.

_"Donor, Splashdown here, I've got a bent bird here. Permission to RTB,"_ one of her pilots reported, a very slight inflection in his voice. She knew she couldn't blame him too much for that. She'd be close to panicking too if her Viper was hit.

"Granted," Donor ordered simply. "Cracker, fly cover for Splashdown until he's back in the barn and then form up with Jaybird and Loser," she added, this time addressing Splashdown's wingman.

_"No can do, Major,"_ Cracker's voice reported over the wireless, with a cacophony of warning klaxons crying out in the background. _"Bird's done for and my ejector's a no go. No joy on the flight stick and I'm stuck in an uncontrolled turn that's going to throw me right against Arcadia's plating here soon,"_ he reported.

Donor was simply shocked at how calm Cracker was as he barreled towards _Arcadia_. Towards his death. Scanning the chaos unfolding outside of her cockpit, Donor spotted Cracker's Viper. The entire left wing looked as if it had been sheared off and a smoke trail followed his doomed craft as it drifted closer and closer towards the outer hull of the Minerva-class battlestar.

Before the Major could say anything in response to his damage report, a Raider swept seemingly out of nowhere and fired a single missile at Cracker's doomed Viper, with Donor being able to do nothing more than gasp in shock as she watched his Viper erupt into a violent explosion. For a single moment, she could see his body be forcibly ejected from the cockpit due to the force of the explosion, though it was quickly engulfed by the flames and wreckage.

A brief millisecond was all she allowed herself to grieve before her full attention shifted back onto the dogfight she was in the midst of. "Lemon, you've got two trying to box you into _Arcadia's_ flak field," Donor reported to her wingman after she regained visual contact on him. "Keep maneuvering, I'm five ticks out," she explained, gunning her Viper's engines forward towards her erratically flying wingman.

No response came, though that didn't surprise Donor in the slightest. Lemon was too busy flying his plane to respond to her. His focus was solely on surviving. One of the two Raiders attacking her wingman suddenly pulled a maneuver that would've rendered any human pilot unconscious, pulling a complete one hundred and eighty degree turn at Gods know what speed, to face her.

Without hesitation and without thought, she pulled her flight stick hard to the right, just in time for the first of her enemy's tracers to soar by her cockpit harmlessly. Whichever craft recovered first would be the victor of this brief exchange and luckily for Donor, she was faster with her stick than the toasters were with theirs.

Despite the lightning-fast reflexes her mechanical counterpart possessed, any craft that pulled the maneuver it just had would take a moment to fully recover control. The Raider had made a gamble in thinking that the maneuver would surprise Donor enough to catch her momentarily off guard and shoot her down in a single pass. Instead, Donor managed to dodge the incoming fire, recover from her own evasive maneuver, and destroy her enemy within the span of two seconds.

Without hesitation, she continued her pursuit of the second Raider that was chasing her wingman. This one didn't bother maneuvering, too intent on its own pursuit of Lemon to notice Donor slotting in on its six. Before it realized what was happening, her KEW's shredded through the left side of the crescent craft, sending it flying off course in flames.

Lemon gave a brief thanks over the wireless before both pilots reengaged with new targets. This battle was still far from over.

* * *

Commander Gideon gritted his teeth in frustration as _Arcadia_ quaked once more from several conventional missiles impacting against her outer hull. His Minerva-class battlestar was currently in a full on broadside-to-broadside engagement with a Cylon basestar and he wasn't entirely sure which of the two would emerge victorious. In a fair fight, any battlestar larger than a Valkyrie-class should have been able to dispatch a single basestar with ease, but without NAVCON and DRADIS, _Arcadia_ was at a distinct disadvantage.

"Weapons, switch amidship primary turrets twelve through sixteen to proximity flak munitions. Beef up the flak field," he ordered his weapons officer, Captain Silva, who quickly dispatched his orders to the gun crews of those turrets.

"That leaves us with only eight of our eighteen main turrets engaging the basestar, Commander," his executive officer reminded him needlessly.

Dawes knew that he knew, she was simply voicing it to air the crew's concerns, rather than her own. "This new design appears to have forgone the inclusion of conventional kinetic turrets, Colonel. If we increase our flak field, we allow fewer missiles to slip through and prevent further damage," he explained, loud enough for the rest of the CIC to hear.

She nodded her head in silent agreement. It was sound logic. If they focused on increasing the flak field, they would end up destroying more missiles and more Raiders altogether, allowing them to whittle away at the basestar over time. Colonial armor was tougher and this was shaping up to be a fight of endurance.

"Radiological alarm!" Lieutenant Kepler reported shrilly and suddenly, drawing Gideon's piercing blue eyes to the tactical station.

With no DRADIS feed, they had no idea where precisely those nuclear warheads were. They could be launching from the basestar itself or one of the many Raiders currently doing battle with the forty or so Vipers that had been retrofitted in the short time the Colonials had had before encountering the Cylons.

Possessing no way to accurately tell where the warheads were coming from, Gideon did the only thing he could and retrieved the wireless transceiver from the center console and switching it over to the ship wide PA. "Brace for impact," he ordered, amazed at how calm he seemed.

Seconds dragged on like minutes while all aboard _Arcadia_ waited with bated breath.

* * *

_"Arcadia's got incoming,"_ one of the Viper jockeys flying alongside Donor cried out, causing her to whip her head to the side, taking a brief moment to glance at what had effectively become her home over the course of the last eight months.

Just as she did, a blinding flash of light illuminated her cockpit, causing her to throw her free arm up to cover her visor. Several Vipers and countless Raiders were caught in the blinding explosion, evaporated from the sheer size of the explosion. She couldn't bring herself to say it aloud, but she had just watched her last home get nuked and Godsdamn if that didn't shatter her heart almost as much as the news of nuclear detonations on her home colony of Tauron.

Like many of the incidents that had occurred over the course of the last eight or so hours, Donor swallowed her grief and refocused her attention on the matter at hand. She furrowed her brows angrily as she fired a burst of 30mm ordnance into a Cylon Raider, wasting no time to slot in on a second that had fixated itself upon one of her pilots and ripping into that one all the same.

Her munition counter flashed yellow, indicating that she was down to roughly two hundred rounds out of her nine hundred round capacity. If this battle went on for much longer, she'd need to start rotating pilots out of the battle to rearm. That was not a good thing.

Donor simply pushed that thought away and gunned her Viper towards another Raider. If this was to be her and _Arcadia's_ last stand, she planned on making it a damn good one.

* * *

"Damage report," Gideon called for over the shouts of panic and sparks flying from now exposed electrical wires that dangled from the ceiling of the CIC.

"Fires reported in all compartments forward of frame 260 on the starboard flight pod. Multiple decompression alarms across a number of those compartments," Colonel Dawes paused in the middle of her report to pick up one of the multiple wired phones that were on the damage control panel. She exchanged a few brief words with the caller before placing the phone back into its designated slot. "Captain Mills reports that one of the engine pods on our starboard side has sustained damage. She's shut it off temporarily until she can get a better idea of what's wrong," _Arcadia's_ executive officer said in addition to her initial report.

Silently cursing, Gideon was further reminded that a battle was still raging outside the hull, a missile impact shaking his battlestar once more to further accentuate that point. The situation was looking more and more dire by the second. "Recall all Vipers," he ordered suddenly, all eyes turning to him. "Begin jump prep," the Commander added, leaning the entire weight of his body against the center console.

"Sir, initiating an FTL jump while we have unpatched hull breaches could result in catastrophic damage," Dawes spoke carefully, doing her best to hold in the outburst Gideon could see brewing. "If that isn't bad enough, the only kind of FTL jump we can make without a functional NAVCON is a blind one. We could end up anywhere," she added.

"I understand, Colonel. Begin jump prep," he spoke, his piercing blue eyes locking with Dawes's own hazel irises. All of his life Gideon had prided himself in being able to read a person's emotions just by locking eyes. Despite any outward appearances, most people's eyes laid their true emotions to a situation on their sleeve, figuratively speaking. For one of the very few times in his life, he couldn't quite gauge what someone was thinking just by locking eyes.

Averting his gaze away from Dawes and to Lieutenant Kepler, who stood like a deer in the headlights, he simply stared stone faced at her, until she picked up the wired transceiver at her station and announced over the ship wide PA that they were beginning jump prep.

The various phones attached to the damage control station, which all connected to the various departments throughout the ship, began ringing shortly after the announcement, with all department heads attempting to sway his orders. As she answered each and every line, explaining the dire situation to them, Gideon could feel the Colonel's eyes staring daggers into the back of his head.

Maybe he was being foolish and brash, but as far as he was concerned, _Arcadia_ was currently on the losing side of this battle and Gideon was intent on ensuring the survival of every man and woman aboard that he could.

A few brief minutes was all it took for the thirty three remaining Vipers to perform combat landings in the port side flight pod. The starboard flight pod would be off limits until the damage sustained could be assessed and repaired at some point after the battle. "Sir," Lieutenant Kepler spoke, just loud enough to corral Gideon's attention. She held _Arcadia's_ FTL key in her hand and was standing by her station. "I need you to verbally confirm your order," she explained, barely keeping her balance as their battlestar shook from a missile impacts once more.

Gideon's eyes met Kepler's eyes, which held a small measure of understandable fear and panic, before he nodded his head in affirmation. "Commence blind FTL jump, Lieutenant. And I will see all of you on the other side," his voice sounded out through the CIC.

Having satisfied her need to absolve herself of any wrongdoing, Kepler inserted the FTL key into its slot and rotated the key, effectively initiating the jump.

Gideon's vision went blurry and his stomach lurched in protest as his ship shuddered and quaked, before blinking out of its current position and was transported to Lords only knew where. Lights suddenly went dark and the Commander and the majority of the crew were thrown off their feet as the ever present hum of _Arcadia's_ primary power suddenly went dead, resulting in the ship violently hurtling out of its FTL stream.

The last things he saw through his blurred vision was the dimmed emergency lighting flickering to life and Dawes's hazel irises hovering over him, worry settling in as she began examining the wounds he didn't realize he had. The Commander attempted to speak, but words failed him and he soon found his world slipping away, before he finally entered into a state of unconsciousness.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Uncharted Interstellar Space **_  
_**Day One of the Attack **_

**_**Crew Count - Unknown**_**

* * *

Colonel Dawes leaned over the now unconscious Gideon, worriedly examining the gash across his forehead that had blood dripping down his face and onto both his duty uniform and the grated floor of the CIC. She faintly noticed a cacophony of warning klaxons, groans from conscious wounded, and shouts for various reports on damage sustained to the battlestar.

"Ma'am!" a voice shouted, drawing Dawes's attention away from Gideon and to Lieutenant Kepler, who stood aside her with a small cut across her cheek. "Main power is out and we have fires reported aboard ship," the tactical officer stated, offering a hand for the Colonel.

Accepting her outstretched hand, Dawes was hefted to her feet with Kepler's assistance. "Send a runner to sickbay and get Doc Vines to send a medical team to CIC," the Colonel ordered, slipping back into her usual professionalism. One of the Marines tasked with guarding the CIC had taken her spot next to the Commander and began tending to his wounds, taking some worry away from Dawes as her focus shifted to the damage sustained to _Arcadia_. Wordlessly, she led Kepler to the damage control panel, where Captain Byron Silva, the ship's weapons officer, stood.

"Phone lines are down, Colonel," Silva began his report. "We've broken out the emergency handhelds and we've gotten a hold of both Captain Mills in engineering and Chief Verell in the starboard flight pod. Verell has reported and sealed off a large hull breach in the middle flight pod access arm, meaning only the forward and aft access arms can be used for travel until we can fix that problem. Verell is focused on containing a fire that's spread into the pod maintenance room and he thinks there's a fire somewhere in the aft access arm," the weapons officer explained.

"Seal off the aft access arm and vent all compartments. If the fire spreads out of the access arm, we won't be able to stop it from reaching the tylium reserve tanks," Dawes ordered, with Silva nodding in response. "What is Mills saying about the power?" she questioned.

Silva ran a hand through his hair before he spoke. "Engineering had to shut down both the primary and secondary fusion reactors because of a feed line issue. We're running on battery life now, which will keep us powered for up to eighteen hours. The good news is that Mills has already located the issue. Bad news is it's going to take her and her crew about two hours to fix, and that's an optimistic estimate," he rattled off.

"Other damages?"

"Hull breaches on forward decks three, seven, and twenty. There's a fire reported near the primary communications array, but since that's on deck twenty, our DC teams are having to work their way around the hull breach. That fire is also more than likely the culprit of our hard lines being down at the moment. Major Warfield has taken control of a mixed team of pilots and deckhands and are fighting a fire with handheld equipment near the ventral turrets of the port flight pod," Silva reported.

Suppressing a sigh of relief, Dawes nodded her head in understanding. All things considering, _Arcadia_ and her crew had been lucky. Taking a direct hit from a nuclear warhead in a Jupiter or Mercury-class was bad, taking a direct hit from a nuclear warhead in a lighter Minerva-class was a potential nightmare. Dawes could only estimate casualties, but she knew that altogether at the end of the day, they would be staggering.

"Get a hold of as many department heads that aren't currently assisting with damage control and begin gathering a casualty report. Keep all gun crews on standby until we restore primary power and get a better idea of where we are," the executive officer ordered, glancing over her shoulder just in time to see a crew of medical staff enter the CIC and begin escorting the wounded, including a gurney-bound Gideon.

Silently, she prayed for his quick recovery.

* * *

Donor coughed violently as she did her best not inhale the smoke currently filling the compartment around her. Ever since exiting her Viper, she had been fighting fires alongside her fellow pilots and a gaggle of deckhands with handheld fire extinguishers and hoses. Lack of primary or even secondary power meant that the automated fire suppression system was deactivated for the time being.

The inability to activate the automated fire suppression system on emergency batteries seemed like a pretty large oversight to her, but that was at the back of her mind as she and her wingman Andrew 'Lemon' Greenwald aimed the high pressure hose they wielded at the flames roaring across the compartment. "Georgy, get the gun crews out of their turrets!" she shouted to one of her pilots, who was quick to grab several deckhands and begin climbing the ladders that led down into the port flight pod's ventral turrets.

She knew that they wouldn't be able to fully extinguish this fierce of a fire with the gear they had. The only option was to evacuate the gun crews, seal off the entire compartment, and have damage control vent it into space.

On the other side of the flames they were fighting, an ad hoc group of miscellaneous crewman were assisting them in fighting the roaring flames. "Get clear! Evacuate and seal off the compartment!" she bellowed to the crew on the other side of the fire, hoping that her shrill voice carried over the cacophony of warning klaxons, the sound of the fire itself, and the noise emitted by the gear they were using in an attempt to halt the advance of the flames.

Donor could see just enough through the flames that the crewmen were abandoning their handheld gear and sprinting in the opposite direction of the flames. Without their assistance in suppressing the fire, the flames grew closer and closer to her and Lemon.

Wordlessly, the pair stepped backwards one step at a time, retreating from the flames until they reached the access hatch that led down into the gun deck. "Give me a hand!" she heard Georgy shout, prompting her to look down the ladder.

Donor saw that Georgy and a handful others were attempting to heft one of the gun crew who had fallen unconscious either from smoke inhalation or injury up the ladder. "Hold the hose!" she shouted to Lemon, who simply nodded.

Scrambling to reach down into the access hatch, the Major grabbed a hold of the man's tunic collar with one of her hands and pulled with all of her strength. With the crewman and her pilots pushing from below, they managed to get him far enough up the hatch for Donor to grasp his tunic with her second hand, supplying her with enough leverage to pull him up and onto the floor of the compartment.

The rest of the deckhands, pilots, and gun crew were quick to scramble up the ladder themselves, moving towards the hatchway that led into the adjacent compartment. Donor and Lemon followed behind them step-by-step, hosing the fire the whole way back. When the duo finally reached the hatch, they were ushered in by the ones who had arrived before them, with the two abandoning the hose they had used before they scrambled into the unaffected compartment.

Donor was quick the slam the hatch shut and seal it, before she grabbed the handheld emergency transceiver she had latched onto the belt of her flight coveralls. "CIC, CAG, vent the port side ventral turrets. Fire cannot be contained. I say again, vent the port side ventral turrets. Compartment is evacuated, hatches are sealed," she spoke into the handheld, before she allowed herself to collapse against the nearest bulkhead, panting heavily.

_"CAG, deck chief. Require assistance in the starboard flight pod maintenance room, if at all possible,"_ Chief Verell's gravelly voice sounded out over the transceiver, prompting her to look upwards at the mixed group of deckhands, miscellaneous crewman, and pilots gathered around her.

Their eyes all looked to her, with the majority of them holding a small measure of what she perceived to be determination. Lemon simply offered his hand to her from where he stood. Smirking slightly, Donor accepted the outstretched hand and was hefted to her feet by the Tauron-born Viper pilot. "Deck chief, CAG. We're on our way," the Major said into her transceiver, before leading the group away.

* * *

"Godsdammit, triage the wounded, Sperry. If they're too far gone, mark them appropriately and make them comfortable," Major Isaac Vines, _Arcadia's_ chief medical officer, ordered one of his orderlies gruffly as he exited through the plastic flaps surrounding one of several operating tables situated throughout the rather spartan sickbay.

Vines was one of only three qualified physicians aboard ship, with him and the other two general surgeons currently rotating patients as quickly as they could. With the sheer volume of wounded piling into the dimly lit sickbay, the three doctors and the various medical staff assisting them were prioritizing cases as best as they could, having to forgo operating on many of the more heavily wounded who would take up too much of their time. His orders to his orderlies and nurses had been to simply administer morpha and to make them as comfortable as they could.

The more lightly wounded crewman had been pressed into service as assistants for the overwhelmed medical personnel, carrying various medical instruments and other equipment as needed.

"Doc, what can I do to help?" a voice questioned from behind Vines, causing him to spin around on his heels.

In front of him was a crewman that he had already assisted, having placed a large bandage over the man's damaged eye. Vines had known just from looking at him that he wouldn't be able to save the eye, but it wasn't life threatening enough to prioritize his over other more severely wounded crewman. Giving the man a simple task would help keep him occupied and might even keep him from going into shock.

Glancing around the sickbay quickly, Vines spotted a patient lying on a stretcher. It was one of the ones he had designated as too far gone to operate on due to the severity of his wounds. The unfortunate crewman had been caught in one of the fires raging across the ship, leaving him covered in third degree burns, and had a piece of debris from some sort of pipeline lodged in his abdomen that would require extensive reconstructive surgery that they simply didn't have time for.

"That man on the stretcher there is going to die. Don't let him die alone," Vines ordered simply, turning away from the wide eyed crewman and returning to the operating table as the next patient was brought in.

He could only spare a single moment of his time to glance towards where the man lay on the stretcher, noting that the wounded crewman was now holding the dying man's hand and muttering soft reassurances to him.

Vines's already long day became longer after witnessing that.

* * *

Sergeant Vincent Young was one of the many Marines apart of _Arcadia's_ MarDet, which was mainly tasked with repelling boarders and defending vital areas of the ship. He was currently doing the latter of those two, standing guard by himself at one of the two hatchways that led into the compartment where the dorsal amidship turrets of the battlestar could be accessed.

During emergencies and battle, access to any of the turrets that made up the primary battery was restricted to authorized personnel and damage control only, meaning that all others were to avoid utilizing those compartments at all times, with deadly force authorized if they attempted to pass without proper authorization.

So when a crewman clad in his brown duty fatigues began marching towards the hatchway, Young's grip on his rifle stiffened and he raised it halfway up in warning. "Access to the gun turrets is restricted, crewman," he warned, eyes locking with the man's.

The crewman paused for a moment and tilted his head slightly, as if he were considering something, when he suddenly broke into a sprint at inhuman speeds, covering the fifteen or so feet that separated the two faster than the Marine had ever seen. Young reacted, managing to whip his rifle upwards and fire off a barrage of shots mere milliseconds before the crewman would've reached him.

Despite his panic, one of Young's shots landed true, hitting the crewman squarely in his chest and throwing him to the ground. Eyes wide in shock and surprise, Young cautiously approached the still breathing crewman.

Before Young could inspect the crewman, he noticed that the crewman's hand was grasped around something and realized too late what it was. Young had enough time to turn around and dive before the crewman pressed down on the detonator he had grasped in his hand.


	7. Chapter 7

**_Space Over Caprica_**  
**_Day One of the Attack_**

**_**Crew Count - Unknown**_**

* * *

To say that the Number One humanoid Cylon, often referred to simply as Cavil, was displeased was a gross understatement. Despite the Cylons' overwhelming success against Colonial defenses, scattered groups of surviving ships had escaped from their grasps, including a handful of Colonial Fleet warships. While his brothers and sisters were already declaring victory, Cavil was plotting for the continued pursuit of these pockets of survivors.

"Cavil, the Number Five aboard _Arcadia_ has failed. He was intercepted while attempting to detonate the ship's munitions," one of the Number Fours, or a 'Simon' model, reported from beside Cavil. The duo stood in the control center of this particular Cavil's personal basestar, which was mostly crewed by a mixture of First Cylon War era Centurions and the newer models, both models working in tandem to ensure precise operation of his flagship.

This particular Cavil was the closest the Cylon had to a Fleet Admiral, possessing a more tactically sound mind than even the others in his line, leaving him as the mastermind behind the majority of ship movements conducted by the Cylon Fleet. Now, he was merely the commander of a cleanup operation, a task that annoyed him more than anything else. "An unfortunate setback, but not exactly an unforeseen one. The Fives never possessed much in terms of intelligence," Cavil muttered, turning to face his counterpart. "Send all but my group and the occupation forces in pursuit of _Galacatica_ and her civilian fleet. We'll destroy _Arcadia_ ourselves," he explained, arms crossed over his chest.

"You know we must reach a consensus before you can send an order like that," the Four countered, with Cavil rubbing his eyes in a mixture of annoyance and frustration. His model was always patient with his younger brothers and sisters, but the need for consensus and a majority rule in the decision making process usually caused a major delay in action.

"Be that as it may, I see no reason as to why any of our counterparts would disagree with that course of action. Let that Five, Six, and Eight run their little love experiment on Caprica, your line can continue your reproduction experiments, and I will lead the assault against _Arcadia_," Cavil stated, waving his hand dismissively.

Simon's face remained clear of any emotion. "And _Pegasus_?" he questioned.

"We have a Six on board; have her lure them into one of our staging areas. Have her tell them it's a communications relay or some other undefended target, I don't frakking care. She's a smart one, she'll figure it out. _Pegasus_ is as good as destroyed, but we don't have anyone aboard _Arcadia_ now that the Five has failed. I was so sure I could get that Eight aboard before they finished their refit, but I misjudged. That won't happen again," Cavil promised, though his tone of voice came off more threatening than anything.

Just as he finished speaking, one of the blonde haired Threes appeared and interjected. "We have a problem. The _Rycon _escaped," the accented Three stated, causing Cavil to whip his head towards her with a scowl plastered onto his aged face.

"What? How the frak did that happen?" he exclaimed in anger.

"Congratulations are in order, brother," the Three began teasingly, before continuing. "We have our first traitor to our righteous caused," she finished with a smug smile.

Cavil's brows narrowed in anger as he realized the implications of what his sister model had just revealed. "A Four betrayed us," he seethed, his eyes shifting accusingly towards the Four that stood beside him. Once more, the model's face remained blank. "This complicates matters, but it shouldn't blind us. Mistakes occurred, as they often do in war. Even our metallic brethren made mistakes in the First War, it was unlikely that we would conduct this attack with no issues of our own. Add _Rycon_ to my list of responsibilities, other than that, the plan remains unchanged," Cavil said with a firm nod, before he turned to exit the command center of his flagship.

Two rogue battlestars were the least of his worries, especially when he was dealt the misfortune of having to deal with the blundering fools he called brothers and sisters.


End file.
